


a promise you swear never to go back on

by NationalityIssues



Series: Musings of the Doctor Who Universe [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s05e12 The Pandorica Opens, Gen, I just feel like Rory's 2000 years of waiting needs more recognition, Inktober 2019, Inktober: Day 7 - Enchanted, Story-Telling, Thirteen is a Story-Teller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 18:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NationalityIssues/pseuds/NationalityIssues
Summary: The Doctor has a talent for charming the scared in times of hardship.





	a promise you swear never to go back on

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 7 of Inktober: 'Enchanted'.
> 
> I know I missed the first 6 days!! I may or may not write short stories for a couple of those prompts, but will likely not do all of them. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy. :)

“What’s your names?” Comes the whisper, quietly, and Yasmin almost doesn’t hear it underneath the muffled hail of gunfire surrounding them.

The trench they’re in is cold, damp, dirtied, and reeks of something disgustingly metallic that she’d rather not think too much about. The walls shake with every explosion that occurs above them, and dirt from the ceiling catches the faces of unlucky civilians as it falls. There are streaks of black oil matted in Graham’s hair and smudged over Ryan’s face, their clothes for this adventure rugged and unclean, as they sit together in one corner, overlooking the rest of the survivors.

The Doctor, Yas realises, doesn’t look any better than the rest of them - her coat is in tatters and her blond hair sticks to her forehead, while blood clots heavily underneath her fingernails. There’s a cut on her cheek that will most definitely become infected and a weariness that holds down her normally confident frame. Her ankle is still swollen. Her arms are bruised.

And yet, despite the measure of pain she must be in, Yasmin watches as she sidles up to a group of scared children and gives them the brightest smile and most assuring eyes she can muster.

“Joriya,” a girl with purple eyes, the oldest of the three, answers. By the way she stares at the Doctor, Yasmin can tell she’s nervous, anxious - her gaze is too suspicious and untrusting, and she pulls the two others at her sides closer. Her heart clenches for these children. Joriya can’t be more than 13 years old. 

By the sharp flash of anger in the Doctor’s eyes, she’s realised this too.

“Joriya, huh,” she comments, warmly, crinkling her eyes with a smile. She holds her hand out, slowly, for a shake. “Nice name. I’m the Doctor.”

It takes a moment for Joriya to be done assessing her, but eventually, she clasps the Doctor’s hand in her own soft grip. The Doctor’s smile softens to something more natural, more comforting, and with steady movements, she crosses her legs and sits at the forefront of their group.

“I’m Da,” the youngest one says, a boy with green-tinted skin, and he hold’s Jariya’s hand a little tighter. “Short for Dalan. The last of us is Kuzi.”

“Da, Joriya, and Kuzi,” The Doctor recounts, gaining a nod of reluctant agreement from the kids. 

Unable to hold himself back from asking, Da speaks up - “Are you here to save us?”

There’s a pause, where the Doctor’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore and Joriya pulls Da further away as if to stop him from speaking, but he doesn’t. “Father said, just before he went upstairs…” Da continues, his young eyes impossibly hopeful, glittering wetly under the harsh fluorescent light. “He said you’d save us. Will you?”

Silence, unbearable, befalls the Doctor for a long and thoughtful moment. Yasmin looks back to her friends and finds the majority of survivors have leaned in to listen. Graham and Ryan and her more than anyone. 

Softly, the Doctor runs a hand through Da’s curly hair. “How long has this war been waging?” She asks, instead.

Da’s eyebrows furrow, as he looks up at her, puzzled. “Always,” he answers, at the same time 11-year-old Kuzi says “300 years.”

“300 years,” the Doctor breathes, still running comforting fingers through Da’s hair, as she grows lost in the crevices of her mind for a long moment. “I knew a man,” her voice raises slightly, subtly, to allow the others around them to hear, “a centurion. An ancient soldier, one could say, of the planet my friends are from.”

“Was there a war for you too?” Kuzi questions, quietly, an amount of what could be empathy adorning their voice.

“For him?” The Doctor trails, a wispy tone in her voice, as though recalling an old, fond memory of centuries past. Knowing the Doctor, it could very well be. “No. Not for him. Not really. He was a protector, you see… There was a-a  _ box _ , a prison, of a kind. The Pandorica. The most secure prison in the universe. It was meant to keep the most dangerous warrior in history trapped, alone, and alive for thousands upon thousands of years.”

There was the sound of rustling dirt, and in the ground, the Doctor had drawn a cube with her finger - on two of its visible sides were detailed circular gears, drawn in dizzyingly complex patterns that perhaps only the Doctor knew the meaning of. 

Joriya frowns at this, although she unknowingly leans closer into the Doctor’s gravity, enchanted by her story. “This ancient soldier, then, he… he was guarding the warrior? In this cube?”

The Doctor hums, noncommittally, “Not quite. You see, the one person the centurion loved most in the universe was... wounded. She was shot, fatally, and the centurion, wanting purely in his heart to save her, made a vow.”

“What’s a vow?” Da asks, from where he was now perched at the Doctor’s side. 

The Doctor bites her lip, “It’s… a promise, you make. A promise you swear never to go back on. This soldier, his vow… Well, this prison was made to keep the prisoner alive. And so, he realised, if he could put the person he loved most into this prison, it would heal her. It would take a long, long time, but it would heal her. There was no doubt in his mind, so... he did it.”

“Wait,” Kuzi tugs on her torn sleeve, “But then… he just let the warrior go?”

“...Yes, he did. He made a vow to save her after all. His duty to the prisoner was just that - a duty. His vow was so much more.” The Doctor absently traces out a multitude of lines in the dirt with her index finger, slowly forming to resemble the helmet and body of a Roman centurion in front of the box. “His vow was so strong, so unbreakable, that he stood by this box for the entirety of the time it took to heal her. He withstood raging fires, the blasts of countless bombs, two world wars, and when the location of the prison wasn’t safe enough he pulled it out of harms’ way with only rope and his own pure strength.”

“How long was she in the prison for?” Joriya whispers, enamoured, eyes transfixed on the art on the floor. “How long did he guard her?”

The Doctor stops drawing with one last flourish of her finger, and lets out a slow breath. “Two thousand years, he guarded her. With no one to keep him company but the box. The Lone Centurion.”

“That’s... sad,” Kuzi murmurs, gazing down at the floor. “That sounds like a sad story.”

“But it isn’t,” the Doctor reassures, providing a measure of comfort by gently squeezing their shoulder. “It’s a happy one. She healed, lived, and reunited with her centurion, knowing without a single doubt that he loved her.”

“Where are they now?” Da asks the question on Yasmin’s, on everyone’s mind, and there’s a stillness in the air as they all wait for the Doctor’s answer.

“They’re gone now, I’m afraid,” The Doctor reveals, mutely. “They had a long, happy life, but now… they’re stories. We all are, in the end, so all we can do is make them good ones.

“But… That’s not really the point.” She stops, then shifts quickly to face Da, a striking level of sincerity in her eyes. “The point is, Dalan, I vow that I will get you out of here. I will get you _all _out of this. No matter what it takes, I will save you. I promise you that.”

If the survivors are less jumpy and sleep just a little bit better that night, no one comments on it. By the time the sun starts to rise, they’re all up and ready to move again, closer and closer still to the TARDIS. Closer to being saved. 

The drawing on the floor, although now smudged and partially blown away, is beautiful. Yasmin’s eyes trace the intricate looping lines of the Centurion’s armour up to his helmet, then back down to his shoulders, braced with the weight of the Pandorica behind him. He stands, pulling it with rope, and between his determined stance and the flames around him, she has no doubt the rope would break before he would even think of it.

“Yaz!” Graham calls, and her eyes snap over to where he, Ryan, and the Doctor are standing. The Doctor is holding Da’s hand, as his father, with fresh new cuts, leads the way. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah!” She calls back, and gives the drawing one last look.

They’re almost safe. They just have to wait it out.


End file.
